Yes, that's a pompadour. No, you can't touch it.

I wore a little pompadour to work today. Nothing exciting, I didn't break out the Lay-rite or anything, but I was pretty surprised by the response. I got everything from, "Wow, you have really big hair!" to "Isn't the anniversary [of Elvis' death] next week" to a bad rendition of America sung to me in mock Puerto Rican accents, just like in West Side story.Now, I am not hardcore kulture like some of the kittens out there (and I have just exhausted my use of the lingo), but it's not like I never dress up, either. It got me to thinking about how we have a kind of weird reverse lookism in this town. When I am in a big city, Seattle, or recently the Big Apple, I often feel a little provincial, because frankly I can't be bothered to make the effort. But here, I feel so high maintenance sometimes that it embarrasses me.

Take, for instance, my outfit at the recent Homeskillet Festival. It is completely undistinguished for any self-respecting vintage-lovin' girl with a sewing machine. Look, the crinoline's not even as big as my bass! Any yet, you'd think I wore a wedding gown to the grocery store for all the excitement it generated. I don't know about living in a town where you are immediately suspect if you leave your house in lipgloss.

But back to the pomp. Vintage hair is BIG right now, awful pun intended. Amy Winehouse and Lily Allen are both proudly sporting beehives, and in the link for Lily, you can see kind of what my pompadour looked like today. My hair in back is shorter, but the little lift in the front was the same. These two are everywhere! 17 year old girls all across America are purchasing dusty cans of Aquanet, untouched since the Tawny Kitaen school of hairstyling was popular! Why, then, am I being abused for a simple, tiny (not even 4" high) pompadour? Because there is not exactly a brisk trade in maquillage in Sitka, that's why. And I am eternally an exception, never a rule. Thank the deities.